


i am your shield!

by cherrykirsch



Series: through the eyes of many [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (a lil bit) - Freeform, Becoming a better person, Canonical Character Death, Family Dynamics, Family Loss, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Growing Up, Introspection, Loss of Innocence, Parent Reinhardt Wilhelm, Protectiveness, Regret, Selfless Reinhardt, War, learning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 13:51:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17623580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrykirsch/pseuds/cherrykirsch
Summary: Balderich is the one who made Reinhardt, what does it mean when he starts to see parts of himself in the way Brigitte is made.





	i am your shield!

For Reinhardt, the words Honor and Glory meant a lot. Capital letters and all; they were so important to him in the past that they needed that extra elevation of superiority, better and more meaningful than every other word in his vocabulary—something that is a compliment to him, he will have his Honor, watch his Glory as he charges into the battlefield.

They’re still important now, of course, but in a different way.

He has Honor in his defensive actions, going where the people need him most, his Glory comes from helping those who need him, protecting them with his life. He doesn’t toss his life around carelessly anymore, he always wears a helmet, and he has Brigitte to think about, to protect even though he knows she can hold her own—Torbjorn would kill him if anything ever happened to her under his care. He doesn’t need to worry about her, but he does anyway.

Brigitte built his amour back up from scrap metal, made her own, he knows that she knows 150 ways to kill anyone with a kitchen knife and a piece of rope, so he doesn’t worry about her in the typical way. He worries about what will happen to her once he’s gone, when he is not there to shield her from projectiles and the horrible parts of the world she hasn’t quite seen yet.

She always asks him ‘when’.

_ When is the right time, Reinhardt? _

_ You can’t keep doing this forever, you don’t have to do this; when will you listen to your body and stop? _

And he always smiles and tells her the same thing; “Brigitte, there will never be the right time. I will do this until I die. I cannot stop, all that I ask is when I can’t hold my shield up any longer, you will put yours up in my stead.” She draws her bottom lip between her teeth and nods, doesn’t look at his face for a while and then leaves to make tea.

When she comes back, a tankard of sweet chamomile for him, she looks into his eyes again, and she smiles.

She will always keep asking when, and he will always give her the same answer. It’s almost a ritual between them. And he knows it’s because she loves him like family, she patches him up when he gets injured, tends to their armor with such tenderness, because she cares so much. Maybe too much.

He twists the badge in his hands, stares down and into the scratched silver.  _ Winston’s message wasn’t meant for you _ . It never used to be, when Overwatch was first established he knew the call wasn’t for him—but now Winston was asking for him and he has a choice to make, one that will affect his and Brigitte’s life forever, one that would put her directly into the line of danger, with or without him.

A choice that was his alone.

It’s what Balderich would say he should do, his duty as a Crusader is above any other he may face. He would want him to accept, take his hand and say, “Live with Honor, Die with Glory!”, and if he was younger, more naïve, Reinhardt would have charged right back in a heartbeat and done his ‘Honor’, made sure that whatever way he went out it was in a blaze of ‘Glory’.

He never used to know what Honor and Glory meant, what Balderich and the other Crusaders meant when they said it to each other, when he said it, when they toasted after a successful battle. When he was younger he used to think that it meant being reckless, taking risks that would have gotten himself or one of his partners killed if something had gone horribly wrong, and fighting as many Omnics as he could, charging right into the middle of them with a grin on his face and emerging without a scratch.

He used to call it his lucky streak, boasting over too many bears to his comrades, and always Balderich would looks directly into his eyes and say, “Lucky streaks run out. You can’t keep doing this forever, Reinhardt; one of these days you’ll get hurt.” And he never believed him until that battle, until he lost his eye, until he lost Balderich and realized his mistakes and his stupidity—until he felt the overwhelming urge to protect, cover people with his shield and then his body when it failed, made sure no other lives were lost.

Now he knows Honor doesn’t come from killing the most Omnics, it comes from his actions on the battlefield, the difference he made while protecting his teammates; He knows that Glory doesn’t come dying in a blazing halo and bringing every enemy down with him, it comes from dying for his teammates and protecting them with his last dying breath.

Reinhardt sighs and tucks the medal into his pocket, picks up his hammer with two hands and gives it a mighty swing. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches on his reflection and he stutters to a stop, the head of the hammer cracking the stone floor as it connects.

He… doesn’t look like himself.

Covered in scars and bruises and burns he wouldn’t trade for anything, silver hair stark on his head and chin, muscles still strong and firm, the same hand rested on his old hammer. He doesn’t know what it is that makes him so different now, maybe it’s the way his back and shoulders ache when he begins to lift the hammer, the look in his eye that wasn’t there before.

What does Honor and Glory truly mean anyway?

Brigitte shuffles into the room, a tray laden with tea between her hands and she looks at Reinhardt as he stares deeply at his reflection. She places the tray on the small table beside his chair.

“Is everything alright, Reinhardt?” She asks, and he winces at the worry in her voice, the furrow in her brow that he spots in her reflection. “Is something bothering you? You’ve never been one who cares much about their appearance.”

Reinhardt finds himself trying for a smile, notices the niceties in it and realizes how put on it is, trying to reassure Brigitte that everything is okay when he doesn’t truly know the answer to the question. His smile drops and he tries again, and it’s something wistful and sad, followed by a small sigh as he turns around.

“I’m just thinking…” He says and then he pauses, thinks for a moment and holds his hands out to take Brigitte’s. She is so small in his hands. “About how much I will miss you when I go.”

“To Overwatch?” Brigitte asks, her voice wavering, and as he looks into her eyes he notices the tears, the unspoken question of somewhere else he may be going to.

Reinhardt smiles. “Yes.” He says and then he laughs, bellows so loudly that he can’t feel the first of the tears fall down his cheeks. “To Overwatch! You have been the perfect Squire, Brigitte, but now, you get to be the Knight. This is where we part, I have taught you all I know.”

Brigitte throws her arms around his middle and hugs him tight, burying her face into his chest. “You won’t have to leave me, we don’t have to part, I don’t care about being a Knight; I want to stay with you.” She says into his shirt and Reinhardt slowly lifts his hands up to hold her, one on her head the other on her back. “Papa has gone back, I can’t lose someone else, so Reinhardt, please, if you won’t stay let me come with you. Please.”

Reinhardt just holds her tightly, sways her back and forth like when she was a little girl standing on his shoes to dance with him and he doesn’t say anything, because he knows Brigitte is stubborn enough to get what she wants.

He just hopes she isn’t there when he dies.

* * *

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Lieutenant,” Is the first thing Jack Morrison says as Reinhardt walks into his office, reaching for the hand offered to him. “Balderich was an amazing man and an equally as amazing commander, he did amazing things for your Crusaders. But, we are also glad to have you, Reinhardt, Balderich always said amazing things about you.”

Reinhardt smiles, and it feels just a little bit stiff on his face. “Thank you, Morrison.” He says and then he gestures to the seat opposite his desk. “May I sit?”

Jack nods and takes his place behind the desk. “Of course, we have a lot of things to talk about. And a lot of things to fill you in on, especially when Gabriel arrives. He’s really the man calling the shots around here, and he should be here very soon, I’m sure you two will be fast friends.” He says as Reinhardt struggles to cram himself into the seat, giving Morrison a sheepish smile when he looks over him. “I should tell you about the other members of our team, founding members; Ana Amari, Liao, and Torbjorn Lindholm.”

Reinhardt tries for a smile, but he knows he just looks overwhelmed more than anything. “I feel a little outclassed.”

Jack smiles back at him. “I assure you, Reinhardt your skills are unparalleled, while Amari may be exceptional with a sniper rifle, she does not have a shield or a rocket hammer.” He says and Reinhardt breathes out at that, chuckling nervously. “You shouldn’t doubt your position. You were my second choice, but one I wanted later, none the less.”

Reinhardt just nods and looks down at his hands, watching as Jack smiles and stands and gestures to the door.

“Here, Gabriel is now,” He says and Reinhardt jumps up when he hears the door open, the chair toppling backwards as he turns to face Gabriel. “It’s nice of you to join us. Gabriel, this is Reinhardt Wilhelm; Reinhardt, this is Gabriel Reyes, our strike commander.”

Gabriel observes Reinhardt with a look of amusement as he takes his hand and shakes firmly, twice. “It’s a pleasure, Reinhardt,” He says and then his face goes softer, just for a moment. “And I’m sorry about Balderich; It hurts to lose family.”

Reinhardt nods stiffly. “Yes.” He says, voice hoarse.

“I’m sure you know why you’re here.” Gabriel says as he pulls back and moves behind the desk with Jack, pulling up a screen up from the table along with a couple of files. “You were selected by the UN to be a member of an elite strike unit whose goal is to protect against and fight against the Omnics. We were structured by Miss Gabrielle Adawe, and she apologies for her absence today, she would have loved to meet you.”

Reinhardt nods, shifting slightly on his feet. “So, we just go where we are needed?” He asks.

Gabriel nods. “More or less.” He says with a small smile. “Where the UN tells us to go, we will go. We won’t have a headquarters until after this crisis has had some sort of resolution, so everything is kind of temporary now; but we need someone like you, Reinhardt, we all have our specialties and yours are… something else.”

Reinhardt frowns and looks down at his hands. “If you’ve seen videos of me fight,” He begins, glancing up to look at them both. “I don’t… do that anymore. I… I used to fight like a madman, charge into battle without my helmet, without my partners and without my shield. I don’t do that anymore, Reyes, Morrison, and if that’s what you’re looking for I’m afraid I must decline your offer.”

Gabriel and Jack exchange a look, and Jack shifts in his seat. “We have seen videos of you fight, Reinhardt, and had Balderich not told us how good of a Crusader you were we wouldn’t have considered you for this position after his death.” He says and Reinhardt nods, looks down at his knees. “And we saw the videos from the jets, we saw your shield then, and in the interviews after we saw the look on your face. That’s enough for us.”

“Hey.” Gabriel says, and Reinhardt looks up and into his eyes, wringing his hands in his lap. “We’ve lost people. We know how you feel Reinhardt. It changes your perspective entirely, makes you realize that you can’t keep acting like a rookie shit forever. But I know you’ll make him proud, and you can always turn down this potion if it’s too much.”

Reinhardt looks between them, the kind and stern looks on their faces, how they’re acting so mature for people younger than him by a good five years, and he smiles and offers them his hand.

“I accept the position.” He says. “Let me join, for Balderich. For me.”

* * *

Torbjorn Lindholm became a true friend.

After the Omnic Crisis, after years of being stationed on missions together, of Reinhardt being a shield and a protector, and of Torbjorn being a mechanic and a deadly shot, their friendship was easy enough to melt in to. They ate lunch together, drank together, talked about their lives and lived together and that’s all Reinhardt could ask of him—he didn’t know of Ingrid until much later, when Torbjorn invited him back to Sweden as a vacation of sorts and they went to his home for dinner. He later explained it was for the protection of his children and wife and grandchildren, and Reinhardt could understand that.

Torbjorn didn’t stop talking about Ingrid to him after that.

So, he visited more, bonded with the children and made then laugh and left them in wonder of the stories he told of his battles. When Ingrid was pregnant, Reinhardt was one of the first to know; he cried and smile so hard his cheeks hurt.

Seven months later and after much strife, Brigitte Lindholm is born, and Reinhardt (godfather and name barer for her) holds her in his arms. A tiny swaddled bundle of cloth with two tiny, pudgy hands wrapped around one of his fingers, and he watches her with stars in his eyes as she sleeps soundly, peacefully. And he knows that he would do anything to protect her from the hardships in the world.

Torbjorn watches him with an amused grin, his fingers interlocked with Ingrid’s. “You know, Reinhardt,” He says with a light chuckle. “You’re a healthy, strong man. You still have time. Settle down, turn this… ‘retirement’ in your favor, start a family.”

Reinhardt looks up at him, still smiling, tears welling in his eyes and then he looks back down at her. “You are my family; she is my family.” He says, choked up with emotion and tears, and then he gently lifts Brigitte up to his face, kisses her oh so gently on her forehead. “Besides, this… this is good enough.”

Brigitte Lindholm becomes like a daughter.

He calls her ‘Mäuschen’, buys her toy trucks and hammers and lets her crawl over him and swing on his arms like a monkey. He watches her grow up, go from a little girl who stands on his shoes to dance at her brother’s wedding to a young woman who spends her day’s knee deep in his armor, fiddling about with wires and bolts and scolding him when he gets too beat up in whatever job he takes on.

He still calls her Mäuschen, but not so much anymore.

She begs him to let her come with him, be his squire and mend his armor on the go, and he agrees. And then she wants to fight, begs him, she shows off her own armor her own shield and flail and he sees the parts of him that made her this way. He agrees, but tells her she needs to ask her father and hopes he says no. He does not, and Brigitte fights with him on his next job, and then scolds him when she patches him up, but her hands shake.

“Is it not what you thought?” Reinhardt asks her when he turns, taking a trembling hand in both of his own, watching her eyes for any sign of distress.

Brigitte shakes her head, curls in on herself a little bit. “It’s so much more than I ever thought.” She says quietly. “How do you stay sane knowing how many people hurt and die out there?”

“I could tell you that it gets easier,” Reinhardt says as he cups Brigitte’s face gently with a hand. “But it doesn’t. If this life is truly the one you want to lead you must accept that you can’t save everyone. People will hurt and die, and you will help them the best you can, shield them, heal them. But you are only human, you can only do so much.”

Brigitte nods shakily and Reinhardt pulls her close to him and up onto his lap, and he cradles her like a baby. She accepts it, leaning into his chest and holding him as he rocks her.

“You are so very dear to me, Brigitte, I know this this is important to you.” He says very softly. “But do you still want this life?”

She buries her face into his chest and clutches his shirt. “Yes.” She replies, voice muffled by thick cotton. “I want to help people. I want to help you, Reinhardt. Your body is giving out; I need to be able to protect you and heal you when your shield fails.”

Reinhardt’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest and he hugs Brigitte just a little bit tighter. “Oh, Mäuschen, I should be worrying about protecting you, not you worrying about protecting me.” He whispers into her hair and she just laughs weakly, sniffles a little bit. “It’s been a long, long day. You head to bed; any repairs can be done in the morning.”

Brigitte nods and pulls herself away from him with reluctance, then she pads quietly to the door and stops, looking back at him.

“Does it get easier to see bad things?” She asks, and Reinhardt smiles.

“That is the one thing that does get easier.” He assures her.

Brigitte nods and leaves the room, and the minute the door closes behind her, Reinhardt puts his head in his hands and begins to cry.

* * *

Standing in front of Balderich’s armour instills a sense of reverence in him.

It makes him think of the person he was in the past and the person he is now. How Balderich would be proud of what he did for Overwatch, how he saved Torbjorn’s life, how he now protects the common people, the ones who need him most. And it’s… a relief, a breath of fresh air that clears out the cobwebs, and he turns the badge over in the palm of his hand, the Overwatch symbol glinting in the dim light.

He thinks of Brigitte (who stands behind him, watching silently), her armour and her shield, how much she has grown from the war naïve woman she used to be, how she has a smile on her face when she fights by his side. How she has grown from a tiny girl into a fierce woman, a formidable opponent and warrior—how in some small way, he made these parts of her shine.

And he thinks of Balderich, how his death turned the tables in his life, changed him into a better man, how even when Reinhardt was young and naïve and reckless, they’d still fight side by side with matching smiles. He thinks of how Balderich made him the man he is today.

Reinhardt steps forward and places the badge on the arm of the chair, holds his hand over the limp, rusting overgrown one of the armour. He smiles, and for a moment he can almost imagine Balderich, beneath the suit, smiling back.

“I have been called.” He says, turning half back to her. “I must answer. Always.”

And as he walks past her, she catches his hand, and joins his side. He looks down at her and she smiles up at him. “Wherever you go, I go.” She says. “Wherever you are called, I am called too. A knight is nothing without his squire.”

“If I died, could you accept it?” He asks, his lips pressed into a line. “If you were there and saw me die, could you carry on?”

“I’d hold you,” She tells him. “I’d hold you and hold up my shield as you died, and then I would carry on and mourn you after the fight. It’s what you say, right? ‘ _ Live with Honor, Die with Glory _ ’.”

Reinhardt smiles, a rumbling chuckle sounding from his chest. “Yes, I suppose I will.” He says and then he lifts his hand, pats Brigitte’s head and look at her fondly. “You are my Glory, Mäuschen.”

Brigitte grins and jumps up to ruffle his hair. “And you are my Honor, mein Löwe.”

That’s what he supposes Honor and Glory means, him and Brigitte side by side and fighting together, the care and love they have for each other.

Dying to protect her would be the most glorious thing he can think of, and the Honor would be his to have.


End file.
